


Natural Order

by manic_intent



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dominance, M/M, Power Play, That AU where Shay picks up Connor instead of Achilles, on his way to investigating a lead about the Precursor box around the vicinity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:41:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He wanted to stay.” Shay shrugged. “Not t’mention that he’s Kanien'kehá:ka. I’m friends with an Onyota'a:ka tribe. They’re nowhere near the same. Might be trouble, even if the Elder owes me big.” </p><p>“Want to stay,” Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered, glowering at Haytham, not in the least intimidated, and Shay grinned despite himself at Haytham’s rising eyebrows. “Shay is teacher. I learn how to fight. You, I no like.”</p><p>There was a badly stifled whistling sound of mirth behind Shay, even as it became a struggle for Shay to hold his own expression carefully blank. Haytham glowered at them both regardless, then beckoned to Shay, his tone wintry. “A word, Captain.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Order

**Author's Note:**

> Things I loved about Rogues: Irish accent, ship battles, more Haytham.  
> Things I didn’t like about Rogues: that new thing where you have to hunt down people who like to jump out at you from bushes 
> 
> Note: Full spoilers for AC:Rogues. Here’s the spoiler space.
> 
> S
> 
> P
> 
> O
> 
> I
> 
> L
> 
> E
> 
> R
> 
> S
> 
> Oddly enough (or not?) I actually didn’t find Shay hot until he became a templar. But the moment he put on that coat, I died a little inside. 
> 
> This handsome bastard:  
> 
> 
> In this AU, Connor’s village was razed when he was around 6 years old instead of 4, so still during the Seven Years’ War, with the destruction total enough that he left and ran into Shay.

I.

Haytham stared for so long that Gist started to shuffle a little awkwardly behind Shay, the Grandmaster’s cold, hard stare darting between Shay’s face, Gist’s, and the solemn expression worn by the native child beside Shay, the boy still dressed in skins and moccasins. With a small bow and quiver at his back and a knife at his hip wrapped in a scabbard of rabbit fur, the kid, Shay had to admit, looked nakedly out of place on the Morrigan’s bridge.

“You can’t keep _people_ as _pets_ ,” Haytham finally growled, and by Heaven but Shay still secretly loved that sound, all the iron and menace of it, still intimidating as ever despite the silver that had started to creep into Haytham’s hair. 

They had just picked up the Grand Master from Fort Baie Rouge, when Shay had heard that Haytham was about and had decided to pop by. Years had passed since Shay had last left on the tail of the Precursor box, and Haytham was still as imperious as ever, as though no time had passed since: the moment he had stepped onto the deck of the Morrigan, he had begun ordering about its crew, First Mate and Captain as though it was the natural order of things, and even the newer crew made no question of it. 

“Eh, he’s not a pet,” Shay held up his palms. “I don’t like slavery either.” 

“The boy’s more like a mascot than a pet,” Gist agreed loyally. “We rescued him, technically.”

“ _Technically_?” Haytham pounced, and Gist shuffled a little further behind Shay, no doubt sensing an incipient explosion. 

“We’re giving him room and board.”

“Teaching him the ropes,” Gist mumbled. “What he could handle, anyway. The men don’t mind him.”

“And he’s here because he wants to. ‘Sides, look at the poor mite,” Shay ruffled the kid’s unruly dark hair, and grinned as Ratonhnhaké:ton frowned and tried to bat away his hands, still all fierce dignity despite his age and diminutive size. “Cute as a button and nowhere t’go. His village is all burned, his people scattered. We brought him back there for a look, too, just in case you were wondering.” 

“I heard that he tried to kill you,” Haytham said flatly. 

“Well now,” Shay tried an ingratiating smile, having hoped that Haytham wouldn’t yet have learned of this fact, “I see that nothing escapes the boss-“ 

“Aren’t you friends with one of the tribes?” Haytham interrupted irritably, for the boss, Shay had noted before, seemed sadly immune to charm of any sort, from men or women. “Why didn’t you just leave him with them? This is no life for a young child, let alone a native boy.”

“He wanted to stay.” Shay shrugged. “Not t’mention that he’s Kanien'kehá:ka. I’m friends with an Onyota'a:ka tribe. They’re nowhere near the same. Might be trouble, even if the Elder owes me big.” 

“Want to stay,” Ratonhnhaké:ton muttered, glowering at Haytham, not in the least intimidated, and Shay grinned despite himself at Haytham’s rising eyebrows. “Shay is teacher. I learn how to fight. You, I no like.”

There was a badly stifled whistling sound of mirth behind Shay, even as it became a struggle for Shay to hold his own expression carefully blank. Haytham glowered at them both regardless, then beckoned to Shay, his tone wintry. “A word, Captain.” 

Ah well. It wasn’t as though the upcoming lecture was an unexpected one. “Sure, boss. Gist, you have the helm. Boyo, why don’t you head back up to the crow’s nest? See if you can get your bearings, make out what direction New York is in.”

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded solemnly, and trotted over to climb up the rigging, as deftly as any seasoned sailor. Haytham tracked his movements with a narrow-eyed stare, then he strode over to the stairs that led down from the bridge to the captain’s cabin, sailors edging quickly out of his path like conies fleeing a cat. 

Not that Shay minded walking at the boss’ heel. Haughty and so very British as Haytham Kenway might be, the man was still a fine bit of stuff, with an arse that a man twenty years younger would be proud to have, and a careful grace that put Assassins and Templars alike to shame. It was a pity that the fella was such a puss face at the best of times, especially as he aged.

II.

The captain’s cabin had been recently neatened: racks of armour carefully stowed, deck scrubbed, sea maps rolled up and stacked into a box, books all stowed into chests. “Ratonhnhaké:ton’s working his keep as a cabin boy,” Shay explained, when Haytham looked around with mild surprise.

“A ship’s not a safe place for a boy.” 

“I wasn’t all that much older than the kid when I started serving on my father’s ship. Gist and I will watch him.”

Haytham looked unconvinced. “Are you sure of this?” 

“He’s a good kid. And I’ve got nothin’ against the locals. Some of them are pretty naturally gifted for this kinda work. Remember Kesegowaase?” 

“That might be precisely the problem at hand. I heard that the boy stabbed you under your ribs.” Haytham said flatly.

“And it’s coming along nicely. Doesn’t even really hurt any longer. Wasn’t serious, see?” 

“Church said that if the boy was any older and stronger he would probably have _killed_ you!” 

“He’s got a talent for mayhem, that ‘un,” Shay made a mental note to have another Word with Church. Blasted doctors. Whatever happened to medical privilege? 

Haytham transferred his glare to the neatened table, tracing his fingers over the pitted edge of the old desk. “How did he manage to take you by surprise, of all people? You have such a… sixth sense, where trouble is involved. I’ve seen firsthand how uncanny it can be. The child can’t be any older than six or seven.”

“I’m still human,” Shay said defensively. “I don’t blame the boy. He just lost his ma and his friends to the British; George Washington’s been burning and sacking the villages. It’s been bloody arseways all round, have you heard? Those poor _people_. The boyo got the wrong idea when he saw me talking to a couple of redcoats at a nearby fort, that’s all. Tailed me out thinking he could get an easy kill. I would’ve done the same.”

“I suppose,” Haytham said reluctantly, “That he does seem… disinclined to try and murder you at present.” 

“Yeah. We caught him, and while I got stitched up, Gist and I talked to him and explained some things. We don’t kill kids.” Shay said firmly, “And I _did_ offer to try and get Johnson to help the kid find his family, or another Kanien'kehá:ka tribe that might be willing to take him on, but the kid refused, stowed aboard the Morrigan when we left, and here we are.” 

“That seems like a rather alarming about-face in his intentions.”

“Eh, well,” Shay shrugged, “I disarmed him easily enough even after he got that stab in, and then he found out that I’ve walked the Sky Woman’s Path, which seemed to impress him some. And anyway, I think we’re probably the first people since his village burned to try and show him some kindness. I guess that stuck. Gist and I felt sorry for him.”

“You have to take better care of yourself,” Haytham said gruffly, though he didn’t look up. “I… you have been charged with a task of the utmost importance to the Order.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Shay drawled. “I’m still working on it. S’why I’m back in these parts, actually. Got meself a lead. I heard a rumour that some Assassins from the French Rite have been sniffing quietly around, hidden in the French reinforcements. I missed them in Louisiana. Heard that they’re going to meet an information broker in Anticosti.” 

“Or meet Achilles?”

“Nah.” Shay shook his head. “Achilles is a broken man, and his Brotherhood knows it. They’ll leave him be.”

“What are the French looking for?”

“Not sure as yet. But they won’t come to this part of the world unless they’ve got good reason to. The French are losing the war, aye? I’ve got a couple of names. That’ll be enough to run on for now.”

“Good work.” A touch of warmth had crept into Haytham’s tone, to Shay’s surprise. Haytham had always been relatively fair where praise and censure was due to be meted, but there was something… different this time, something oddly intimate; and despite the pervasive chill of winter even within the cabin, it felt abruptly a touch too hot under his coat.

“Been a while,” Shay took a step closer, his grin growing sly, “Did you miss me?” 

“Despite the occasional outbreak of insolence you _are_ a valued member of my Rite,” Haytham replied, all ruthless amusement, and Shay dared to sidle closer yet, until they were a hand’s breadth away, the air growing charged about them both, heavy with promise. Christ, but age had done nothing to dull Haytham’s looks, and Shay _had_ missed Haytham, missed the Order, missed the inexorable sense of _purpose_ that Haytham always exuded like a mantle. 

Wolf as Shay might be, a wolf that had a master was really more of a dog, and for a man such as Haytham, Shay would always come gladly to heel. He had known the truth of this in his bones from the beginning.

“Valued, eh? Funny that. I could’ve sworn that all them British snipers still shot after my tail, even after all the trouble I’ve been through to pick up forts and settlements for King and Country and all that. You could’ve dropped a word in the right ear. Or maybe you dropped the wrong one.” 

“Something had to keep you on your toes.” 

Perhaps something of this sentiment showed. Haytham reached out with his sword hand, his elegant fingers sketching a lazy tracery up over Shay’s left bracer, teasing and possessive, the barest of gestures, yet enough for Shay’s breath to catch in his throat. At the faint sound, Haytham’s gaze darkened, lips parting, and when he spoke again, his voice seemed to have dropped a register, low and harsh. “I _did_ miss you. More than I should have.” 

“That’s because I’m better than your other pawns.”

“Arrogant as always,” Haytham said, with a sigh. “It’s a bad habit of yours, one that I’d hoped to wean you from.” 

“Says the posh Englishman in the great big hat.”

This got him a little frown of irritation. “This again? Don’t be tedious.”

“Tedious? Perish the thought, boss.” Deciding to push his luck further, Shay leaned in, to try and steal a kiss, but Haytham’s hand shot out, curling fingers around his throat, and Shay choked out a breathless laugh instead. Haytham’s gaze seemed to flow molten, and that stopped the apology at the tip of Shay’s tongue. 

“Your crew’s about.”

“Eh,” Shay tipped up a shoulder. “We’re all sailors to a hair. Always open to a bit of a tumble here and abouts; whether our partner has knockers or a cock don’t matter none. ‘Sides,” Shay grinned wickedly, “I ain’t the only man on board who’s been eyeing your arse. Sir.”

“Such cheek,” Haytham murmured, though his hand tipped up, to run the callused pad of his thumb over Shay’s lower lip, and now Shay _wanted_ , fiercely, achingly, heard his next breath stutter to a halt and his heart start to pound. “Do you know what I regret, when I sent you away?” 

“Losing the only Templars in the Colonial Rite who had a sense of humour?”

The tips of Haytham’s mouth actually quirked, which showed, in Shay’s dazed opinion, that Hell was quite likely freezing over right this instant. “I regret that I did not make a… greater use of your loyalty, Shay.” Haytham’s hand flattened on Shay’s shoulder, pushing downwards lightly, but he needed no more force than that: Shay was sinking to his knees before he could even think it through, breathless again, his fingers unsteady with impatience as he worked through belt buckles and laces. 

Shay whistled lightly as he got Haytham’s breeches and smallclothes down: Haytham was rather more sizeable than Shay had originally estimated, and fastidious as the man was, Shay wasn’t surprised to find him clean, the thickening masculine musk delicious rather than offputting. He grasped Haytham’s cock in his palm and licked at the tip, and Haytham hissed, hands tightening over Shay’s shoulders for a moment before one curled up onto his skull, and then - by God - clenching tight on Shay’s short ponytail. 

When Shay gasped, Haytham froze for a moment, then chuckled to himself when Shay sucked in the swelling head of Haytham’s cock, though it was Shay’s turn to smirk when Haytham’s voice broke into a startled moan as Shay tucked his tongue under the foreskin of Haytham’s cock. It was a neat trick that he had picked up from a woman of tradable virtue in New Orleans, and from the way Haytham bucked into his mouth and tightened his grip on Shay’s hair, it was very, very obviously to Haytham’s liking. 

Anything for the boss, Shay supposed. He swirled his tongue, which got him a small taste of Haytham’s seed and another moan, then Haytham was tugging at his ponytail and gritting out, “Stop teasing and apply yourself, Captain. We haven’t got all day.” 

Shay let up with a final lick and a sly grin. “What’s the hurry, boss? A fine bit of cock like this doesn’t deserve a rush job.” He was more than willing to worship it with his mouth and hands all afternoon if he could.

“Don’t _question_ me,” Haytham snapped, and the bite to his voice went straight to Shay’s cock: Shay had to duck a hand between his legs to press his palm tightly over his own cock, sucking in a gasp to press down a pulse of pure arousal. “And don’t you dare,” Haytham added huskily, as he pulled Shay’s head down again, “Find your pleasure before _me_. Are we clear?”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Shay drawled, as he sucked Haytham back into his mouth, and this time, obligingly, tried to relax his throat as much as possible as he sucked, until he was fairly sure that he could take rougher use; he tugged at Haytham’s hip with his clean hand, and Haytham shifted his weight on the deck, bracing a palm against the desk and curling the fingers of the other in Shay’s hair and rolling his hips, cautious at first until Shay responded with a muffled groan, then harder and harder yet. 

Haytham’s rhythm grew ruthless when Shay merely took it, hungry for the rough press of Haytham’s cock down his throat and unashamed to moan for it, his throat sore and bruised by the time Haytham’s breathing broke into shallow choking gasps and his knees shook a little from where they were pressed against Shay’s flanks. He could feel desire’s trap coiling closed around his master’s self-control, as Haytham’s thrusts broke out of rhythm and his elegant hands curled and uncurled convulsively in Shay’s hair, the air thick with their moans and the obscene, wet slap of flesh and suction-

“Enough,” Haytham hissed, dragging Shay off him with a fist over Shay’s ponytail, and Shay blinked for a moment before Haytham closed his fist over the hand that Shay had on Haytham’s cock and _tugged_ and then Haytham was coming, silent and open-mouthed, teeth bared as he marked Shay’s cheek and throat with warm seed. 

“Jaysus,” Shay breathed, his voice broken, and he started to laugh even as Haytham leaned a hip against the desk, breathing hard. “That was somethin’ else.”

“Was that everything that you were expecting?”

“I might’ve been hoping for more. Wouldn’t have minded a little tumble on the sheets, havin’ you under me, tapping that fine arse of yours,” Shay drawled, because it was always better to gamble big than nothing at all, and then yelped as Haytham tugged his head hard, forcing him to bare his neck. “Hey, _hey_ , boss. Easy on the hair.” 

“You,” Haytham growled, again with that lovely, dangerous rumble to his tone, “Shouldn’t push your _luck_ , Captain.” And then Haytham shoved the flat of his boot up against Shay’s clothed, straining cock, and at the first touch of pressure, Shay let out a high, shocked sound of ecstasy and soiled his pants like a virgin boy, fuck.

“Clean yourself up,” Haytham told him briskly, as he tucked himself back in and straightened his clothes, back to being the sleekly posh Grandmaster in what felt like a heartbeat. “And then get me to New York. With no detours and distractions this time, if you please. No ‘investigating’ warehouses ‘on the way’, and certainly no unprovoked acts of piracy.”

“You’ll take all the fun out of living on the sea, boss,” Shay complained, though he deliberately swiped a line of Haytham’s come off his cheek and licked it up off his fingers, just to see Haytham go very still and intent, his steely eyes tracking the movement of Shay’s hands, down to the wet, soiled line of his throat with a possessive gleam that was entirely lustful. 

“I’m sure that we can manage to keep you entertained in less destructive ways,” Haytham purred, and inclined his head with mock politeness before letting himself out of the captain’s cabin. 

Shay sank back on his haunches with a grin, even as his cock made a manful twitch in his now filthy breeches. “‘Less destructive’, eh? We’ll see about that.”

**Author's Note:**

> twitter: manic_intent  
> tumblr: manic-intent
> 
> I'm not sure whether I have the energy to do a multi-chapter fic in this fandom for this micro pairing ahaha, and I think this story probably does stand alone as it is... so we'll see what I feel like. :o


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